Pairing: Elrond/Glorfindel (Elrond/Thranduil implied.)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien. The rights belong to him and to New Line Cinema. No money made or offence intended by the use of them.
A/N: For Ilye, who challenged me to make Elrond and Glorfindel more than friends for once! Couldn't quite manage it, but points for effort, right? Inspired her wonderful pairing of them in her trilogy: In Lieu of Love, Don't Fade Away and The Saving Grace (http://www.geocities/talesfromthevale.com)
Sequel to "Do what you have to do."
* Archers and Orcs is a game more or less like draughts.

From high up he watched the party of riders depart. On the steps below his lord and friend, Elrond Peredhel bade farewell to the king of the Greenwood and politely watched the Sindarin elf haughtily spur his creature from the realm he found so distasteful: Imladris, valley of the half-elven family. Glorfindel, located far from reproving eyes, allowed his lip to curl in a display of rare dislike - for king Thranduil.

"Strange, your majesty, that you find Imladris so objectionable on the grounds of the bloodlines of its founder, and yet you would repeatedly bed him for your own satisfaction," Glorfindel muttered darkly.

The king had a wife and three sons in the Greenwood, and the soft glow in his eyes - the only part of him that was not as cold and hard as marble - showed how deeply he cared for them, where otherwise his outward demeanour would icily contradict the feelings safely locked inside. Shaking his head at the contradictions of emotion and lack thereof embodied within the Sindarin king, Glorfindel turned from the window as the door to the chambers was lightly knocked upon and opened. Elrond entered, smiling at Glorfindel and closing the door behind him.

"I see the great king of the Greenwood has taken his leave," Glorfindel observed in his most neutral tone.

"Yes." Elrond's quick, suspicious glance told the seneschal of Imladris that his lord distrusted the emptiness of his tone and Glorfindel firmly quashed his own feelings in favour of the manners best suited to his duty.

"Forgive me for not attending, my lord, I hope that you wished him safe passage to his home."

"I did," Elrond replied, moving to his desk and picking up a document. "For all the gratitude that was worth."

Glorfindel cast Elrond a sidelong look and met a pair of sparkling silver eyes. Glorfindel's lips twitched and Elrond let a smile flicker across his own countenance at the rudeness of the elven king.

"Far be it from me to wish Thranduil to encounter perils upon his journey," Glorfindel said disingenuously, turning his gaze back to the valley beyond the window. "We cannot have him chased by orcs, or caught in the webs of his spiders or perhaps rendered comatose in his bewitched river - it would spoil his clothing."

Elrond made a stifled sound in his throat, the laughter he was trying to contain dancing in his eyes as he attempted a disapproving glower in his seneschal's direction.

"One would almost begin to suspect that you do not like king Thranduil," Elrond observed, his voice and features more or less under his command once more.

"I, my lord?" Glorfindel feigned astonishment. "Nay - how could you think such a thing? I have utmost respect for his ability to attire himself so grandly and speak with such condescension of all of those he encounters. Is it not a remarkable ability to so discern one's innate character based entirely upon one's ancestry?"

"Glorfindel!" Elrond barked, though his tone decidedly lacked reproof.

"Do you doubt my sincerity?" Glorfindel affected insult.

Elrond's eyes narrowed. "Not a whit."

Glorfindel chuckled softly. "Ah..."

"'Ah' indeed, you rouge," Elrond chided. "Like a gossiping maiden you would encourage me to find amusement in speaking ill of my equals!"

"In name alone is king Thranduil your equal, my lord," Glorfindel answered, his tone becoming serious.

Elrond's familiar frown flickered into place and he began to unroll an item of correspondence. "You are mistaken, Glorfindel. In bearing burdens of greatest magnitude king Thranduil is my equal; in knowing pain and grief and loneliness I find again he is my equal; in binding himself into willing servitude of his people, he is my equal."

Glorfindel regarded his lord steadily. "And yet within you I find there is no need to abuse those who would offer you comfort and comradeship and support through these times." Elrond's reproving eyes met his and Glorfindel held the grey gaze steadily. "Tell me, my lord, how is your wrist this morn?"

Elrond's hand flew automatically to the injured limb and he sighed, setting down his paperwork. Turning to his seneschal he shook his head, his voice growing cold. "I ask not for your approval, Glorfindel, but I will *order* your acceptance if it must come to that."

Glorfindel rose sharply from the window seat and crossed abruptly to his lord.
"As lord of Imladris you may order your seneschal to do anything that you choose, but Elrond cannot so command Glorfindel for friendship transcends the bounds of duty and honour!"

For a moment they stood, locked in irons as ships in still waters, one stormy countenance glowering at another. It was Elrond who sighed, stepped away and collected his papers once more. "Very well," he said neutrally. "Let us not permit personal matters to interfere with our work. I believe that you, seneschal, have tasks to attend to. As do I."

"Then Glorfindel would ask you to meet with him this night to continue this conversation."

"I think that you may find Elrond is busy," the lord of Imladris answered coolly.

Staring at the fortress presented by his lord's stiff back, it was Glorfindel's turn to sigh. "Does Thranduil mean so much to you that you would deny a friend of olden times sufficient counsel to ease *his* mind?" Glorfindel asked, laying a gentle hand on Elrond's shoulder.

The peredhel laid aside his papers once more, resting his palms upon his desk.
"Do you wish to understand, Glorfindel, or do you merely desire another attempt to convince me of my encroaching insanity? I assure you the latter will prove quite fruitless."

"I am quite the selfish creature, Elrond. I desire my own peace of mind that I hope to find in understanding."

Elrond chuckled, turning at last to face his friend. "Very well then, Elrond shall rearrange his commitments this night to accommodate that conversation after all - although I trust you can wait until after I have spoken with my daughter who returns from Lorien this afternoon."

"For lady Arwen's sake I would await you until dawn," Glorfindel assured him.

* * * * *

True to his word, Glorfindel walked the grounds of Imladris long into the evening twilight. The shadows stretched across grass made pale by the moonlight and the rushed whispering of the Bruinen flowing into the valley brought music to the night. The river had long harkened to the call of the valley's lord and Glorfindel found comfort in that: if Manwe's nymphs had not forsaken Elrond then the Valar could not ill look upon his latest activities. Glorfindel scowled. He still disliked Thranduil. The Sindarin king hid insecurity and the hardships he had endured rebuilding the realm of the Greenwood, after its former king fell in the Last Alliance, beneath an arrogant, self-important and condescending manner that degraded all others in any manner possible in order to improve his own appearance. What Elrond saw in him, Glorfindel could not fathom. Since the days of Thranduil's princedom and Elrond's heraldship to the high king Gil-galad, the pair had been at loggerheads - as had their kings. And in matters of business this legacy was honoured in heated debate and grudgingly resolved disputes.

Yet Elrond had spoken gently of Thranduil as his equal, countering Glorfindel's - albeit fair - disparagements. This then perhaps was what each saw of him. Even knowing the history that had built the mask that Thranduil wore, Glorfindel knew he struggled to look past the surface Thranduil presented. Alone in the bedchambers, Thranduil evidently showed that which hid beneath his glacial exterior: anguish, fear, isolation and frustration, manifested in his somewhat violent displays of passion, the testaments to which Elrond wore in bruises and exhaustion after Thranduil's visit had ended. Glorfindel sighed. That explained much, for all such emotions the lord of Imladris felt, though he chose more frequently to speak of them to Glorfindel while they gazed upon the stars or walked the passages of Imladris in their infrequent periods of respite. Thranduil, Glorfindel was certain, would not speak of his emotions. Nor hear them from Elrond - if Elrond himself would reveal them to the Sindarin king, something Glorfindel considered unlikely. Nay, there was not trust, nor counsel, nor affection between them. And so what was it?

Soft, almost imperceptible footfalls made him turn from his perambulations and he greeted Elrond with a smile. His lord had brought with him a bottle of miruvor and two glasses, which now he poured and set down upon the stone bench that overlooked the Bruinen.

"Arwen sends you her thanks for your patience and hopes that she may continue to test it, if you will do her the honour of an Archers and Orcs* match tomorrow evening," Elrond said, taking a seat and holding out a glass to Glorfindel.

"You may inform her that I shall, for sixteen centuries in the Halls has done wonders for my patience, yet without it I would never have dared to consent," Glorfindel answered, smiling.

Elrond chuckled. "She grows fearfully like her grandmother each time she returns - let her not look you in the eye, my friend, for she will surely read your soul."

Glorfindel regarded his lord over the rim of his glass. "I have naught to hide."

Elrond arched an eyebrow. "You are without shame; it is her innocence I fear for."

"With the hours she spends in Galadriel's company it would be a source of eternal astonishment to me if she were able to be naïve at all," Glorfindel countered.

Elrond chuckled. "If you mean to manoeuvre me into conceding that my conscience is against me then you will fail, my friend."

"I believe I have just done so," Glorfindel smirked.

Elrond lifted his eyes to Elbereth's canopy. "Touché."

For several moments they were silent, sipping at their cordials, their eyes fixed on the stars. Glorfindel cast a sidelong look at his lord, whose features had slipped into an involuntary expression of haunted sadness.

"You miss him, do you not?" he murmured softly.

"Gil-galad?" Elrond nodded, not taking his eyes from the night tapestry. "Every single day." He sighed and sipped his wine.

"Is Thranduil anything like him?" Glorfindel could not see it himself.

"No. No one is like him," Elrond replied, a sad smile gracing his features.

"Except in that he brings you pain," Glorfindel said softly.

Elrond's lips twisted. "You are determined to understand, are you not? Pain, yes, but of a different kind. Gil-galad never hurt me; it was the restraints of society and duty that caused our hurts. Thranduil and I have no concerns for such things; nothing that passes between us would we care to have publicly acknowledged."

"Then why do you turn to him, Elrond? The way of pain will help no one."

"It helps me."

Glorfindel shook his head. "Perhaps you have merely forgotten what it feels like to find comfort without pain."

"Perhaps."

For a moment their eyes met and held, then, slowly, Elrond nodded. Setting aside his glass, Glorfindel gently took Elrond's from him and leaning forward, brought their lips together. Into the kiss he poured the affection and love he held for his dearest friend, one hand entwining gently into the thick dark silk of Elrond's hair, the other holding steady Elrond's half-full glass. Elrond's hand rested lightly on Glorfindel's knee, the other cupping Glorfindel's cheek.

Then Elrond gently drew away, and carefully disentangled himself with a small, sad smile. "My apologies, my friend. I cannot."

He straightened, smoothing his robes back into place and his calm demeanour settled upon him with the fabric. Glorfindel watched him for a moment, his features grave and he reached out as Elrond turned away, catching his lord's arm.

"Elrond, why?" he asked gently.

The peredhel's lips twisted into a rueful smile. "You remind me of Ereinion - and what can never be. You have returned from Mandos' dark keep, while he will forever be banned from Arda for the crimes his kin committed long before his birth. You have the strength in heart and mind and in directness of speech that I loved in him. You remind me of Celebrian in that you are bright and golden as the dawn. You have her devotion to my children and you can lend me your ear for counsel, as did she so frequently. You embody all that I once valued in those whom I have dearly loved. And for that you are most precious as my friend. You are my companion, counsellor and confidant. But the intimacy between us is of another kind. You do not feel desire for me, nor I for you. And that renders us rather in a void that even friendship cannot breach."

"Elrond..." Glorfindel was lost for words. "I believe," he said at long last. "I begin to understand why it is you seek Thranduil's bed."

Elrond nodded. "Good."

But Glorfindel shook his head. "No. Good is something that it will never be, Elrond. I cannot offer you passion, nor will I offer you pain. But I do understand. Come to me, when the sun sets and the moon rises. Come to me and I will share your bed; sleep at your side. You do not have to be alone, Elrond; but you do not need seek Thranduil for company. Make him seek from his wife what yours could not give, for she, like I, has been at her lord's side from the beginning."

Elrond cocked his head, regarding Glorfindel closely. "What exactly are you offering," he asked carefully.

"Companionship," Glorfindel replied simply, and Elrond smiled. "Peace."

[End]